


The Darkening of Valinor

by Toastzombie



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Finweans, Gen, The Silmarillion - Freeform, Valar - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:56:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastzombie/pseuds/Toastzombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yavanna is distraught, Manwë has a headache, Fëanor tries to fix things and Vána has a speaking part. A slightly different story of how the Two Trees were destroyed, and why the Noldor left Valinor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Darkening of Valinor

**Author's Note:**

> Title: The Darkening of Valinor  
> Warnings: Teens for very slight swearing, and general irreverence. Fëanor would probably approve.  
> Genre: Humour  
> Word count: 1844  
> Summary: Yavanna is distraught, Manwë has a headache, Fëanor tries to fix things and Vána has a speaking part. A slightly different story of how the Two Trees were destroyed, and why the Noldor left Valinor.  
> AN: Disclaimer - I own no characters mentioned. Even Fëanor did the whole 'irreverence for the gods' thing first. Sadly, I couldn't find a way to mention Nerdanel, but hey, you get Vana instead.

 

> _‘Yavanna spoke before the Valar, saying: ‘The Light of the Trees has passed away, and lives now only in the Silmarils of Fëanor. Foresighted was he! Even for those who are mightiest under Ilúvatar there is some work that they may accomplish once, and once only. The Light of the Trees I brought into being, and within Eä I can do so never again. Yet had I but a little of that light I could recall life to the Trees, ere their roots decay; and then our hurt should be healed, and the malice of Melkor be confounded.’_  
>   
>  _Then Manwë spoke and said: ‘Hearest thou, Fëanor son of Finwë, the words of Yavanna? Wilt thou grant what she would ask?’_  
>   
>  ‘Of the Flight of the Noldor’  
> 

 

\-------------------------  


Laurelin and Telperion, the two trees made by Yavanna Kementari in the bliss of Valinor when the world was young and whose fame and beauty were legendary, lay dead upon the green mound of Ezellohar. Darkness had enshrouded Valinor since their withering at the hands of Melkor and Ungoliant, but even in the faint starlight their destruction could clearly be seen. Their leaves black, their branches thin and brittle and their trunks broken and twisted, it was a sight to move any who saw it to tears.  


Fëanor had to admit that it was going to be a tough job.  


He walked around the trees several times, inspecting every twig, leaf and branch, occasionally making notes on a piece of parchment. He was grateful at least that he was allowed to work in peace and quiet – the Noldor were busy collecting lamps, and the Vanyar had gone to sing or think holy thoughts or whatever it was they did in their spare time. Yavanna, who had been wailing so loudly that the Teleri in Alqualondë had complained about the noise, had been led away by Irmo, Estë and Nienna to calm down. Vána was standing in for her, and Aulë was evidently communicating with his wife through telepathy, although he had spoken out loud without seeming to notice. Fëanor had paused from inspecting the trees to hear ‘…well, I’m sorry, dear, but this really wouldn’t have happened if you’d let me put some armour over them…’, and had decided that he had heard more about the lives of the Powers of Arda than he really wanted to know.  


He finished looking at the remnants of the Two Trees, and turned back to the assembled Valar. ‘It’s not going to be easy at all.’  


‘We’re quite aware of that,’ Manwë replied. Had he been any other being in Arda, this might have sounded peevish, but since it was spoken by the Lord of the Breath of Arda, it of course sounded wise and majestic. (Well, perhaps majestically peevish.)  


‘Of course it will be difficult,’ Varda said serenely. ‘Great works are never easy. But were this the most difficult feat in all of the history of the world – and who says that it is not? – still we must attempt it. The Trees were the light and glory of Valinor, and I grieve at the thought of our land being darkened forever.’  


‘Aside from all else,’ Mandos added, ‘we will doubtlessly run out of candles quite soon.’  


‘Doubtlessly,’ Fëanor agreed. Some part of his mind noted: a shortage of candles. That will increase demand for any existing candles, which means that people will be willing to pay more for them. I wonder how many candles there are in Formenos? He made a mental note to send Maedhros to buy all the candles that he could find, and turned his attention back to the situation at hand.  


‘Please continue, Fëanor,’ said Varda graciously.  


‘Ah. Yes. I’m not convinced that the trees will be able to withstand the healing process. You see,’ – he indicated the trunks – ‘there is little wood left that is not completely damaged, and I’m worried that any attempts to heal it will make it disintegrate.’  


‘Melkor must have struck the trees at their cores, and Ungoliant must have drunk all their sap,’ Vána commented. She was running her hands over the trunks of the trees, looking concerned. ‘They were weakened by the strike, but the loss of their sap dehydrated the wood, making it weak and brittle. Yes, I see.’ She turned to Fëanor. ‘Do you think that a seedling, placed in the centre of each tree, would grow to be a copy of the tree they grew from?’  


‘It’s possible,’ Fëanor admitted.  


‘We’ll try that, then,’ Vána declared. ‘Laurelin at least resembles a beech tree, and if the seedlings are young enough, they should grow into the forms of the Two Trees rather than their original shapes.’  


‘I will do my best, of course,’ Fëanor said thoughtfully, ‘but I’m not going to be able to do this in the time I estimated. There may be additional wear on the Silmarils, as well,’ he added pointedly.  


‘It is a risk that we must take,’ Manwë said decisively. ‘Heal the Trees, Fëanor son of Finwë, and all will love and praise you for the rest of time.’  


It only occurred to Fëanor later, when he was on his way to collect the Silmarils, that while love and praise were nice things, neither of them could be converted into a monetary value particularly well.  


\-------------------------------  


‘Are you sure this is going to work, dear?’ Manwë murmured to his wife as they watched Fëanor set up his equipment.  


‘I do not think that Fëanor will fail,’ Varda replied calmly.  


‘But what if he _does_ , dear? Yavanna’s only just stopped crying, and Ulmo tells me that the sea rose by more than a foot while she and Nienna were grieving.’ Manwë didn’t like to think of what would happen if Fëanor managed to botch the healing process. Death was probably the best thing that would happen to him, since he doubted that Yavanna could attack a fëa with strangling vines and poisonous plants.  


For a moment, the Lady of the Stars looked disgruntled. ‘We will think of something,’ she replied. ‘I’ll make some more stars, or we’ll light lots of bonfires. Perhaps Aulë can explain this ‘nuclear fusion’ thing of his to me.’  


Yavanna had finally stopped crying, but was still sniffling loudly and often. The Vanyar and most of the Noldor had returned to Ezellohar to watch the healing, although Finwë was noticeably absent, sending a messenger to notify them that he was overseeing the collection and organisation of candles and lamps in Formenos. The assembled Valar turned their attention back to the trees, and all talk stopped, as Fëanor finished adjusting one of the Silmarils and announced that he was ready to begin.  


The three Silmarils had been set up on tables and were equally spaced around the trees. Several mirrors had been placed between them, and a multitude of candles stood behind each jewel, ready to be lit. Fëanor explained that the position of Silmarils, candles and mirrors would surround the two trees in a bath of light. He hoped that the light would strengthen the original trunks, and also allow the two beech seedlings that Vána had placed in their centres to grow quickly and become saturated with light.  


Fëanor, assisted by Curufin and Maedhros, began to carefully light the candles one by one. As the light increased and the Silmarils began to shine gently, Manwë allowed himself to believe that the scheme might actually work.

  
He should have known that it would all go downhill from there.  


Invariably, a snag occurred, as one of the mirrors slipped out of place. Fingolfin, who had been watching the whole process closely, saw an opportunity to heal the rift between him and his half-brother, and gently began to manoeuvre the mirror back into place. Unfortunately, Fëanor looked up at that moment.  


_‘Don’t touch that!’_   


Startled, Fingolfin jerked his hand, angling the mirror sharply upwards. A near-perfect ray of light appeared on the trunk of Laurelin, which soon started to smoke. Other mirrors were disturbed, and in a scene that would have delighted any James Bond villain worth his salt, there were soon beams of light all over the two trees. The seedlings began to shrivel in the heat.  


As Laurelin and Telperion began to go up in flames and Yavanna started to wail again, Manwë turned to look at his wife again. ‘Perhaps you were right about the bonfires, dear.’  


\-----------------------  


‘Out! _Out!_ All of you, out! Oh, my beautiful trees!’ Yavanna was alternating between screaming and crying, while Ulmo had stalked off into the ocean, muttering that it wasn’t going to be _his_ fault if the sea levels rose ten thousand years before they were scheduled to… some days, Manwë truly wished that he had never left the Timeless Halls at all. From Yavanna’s point of view, Fëanor, Fingolfin, and by extension most of the Noldor, were serial arsonists. At least half of Tirion was now covered in ivy, which had made Oromë’s observation that the lands to the east were really very lovely at this time of year all the excuse the Noldor needed to leave Valinor.  


Manwë waited until Yavanna had been led away (once again) by Irmo and Estë before he decided it was safe to be seen with the Noldor. He stepped out from behind a handy tree to find that Vána was already talking to them.  


‘So how long do you think it will take for her to calm down?’ Fëanor was asking.  


Vána shrugged eloquently. ‘Considering that her spats with Aulë last for _decades_ , I’d say at least a millennium. Probably two.’  


Fëanor seemed remarkably resigned to his exile. ‘At least it’ll be a change of scenery. There are normal trees there.’  


‘Well, I’d better go and help calm her down,’ Vána said. ‘Good luck.’ She disappeared into a field of flowers.  


‘I am truly sorry about this,’ Manwë said awkwardly to the assembled Noldor. ‘She’s not normally so temperamental, but she did love those trees… anyway, I shall of course have to maintain a public face of disapproval, and we’ll set up some camouflages for Valinor, but you will all be welcome back in a millenniums or so. Do try to get along,’ he added, looking at Fëanor and Fingolfin, who muttered and shuffled their feet. The Lord of the Breath of Arda watched the host set off, then departed.  


Some five minutes later, Fëanor turned to Maedhros and said quietly, ‘Is he gone?’  


Maedhros glanced over his shoulder. ‘Most likely, yes.’  


‘Good.’ Fëanor paused to look at his eldest son. ‘Why have you got so many candles?’  


‘You told me to collect candles, Ada.’  


‘Oh, yes. Well, don’t bother with them now – actually, we might be able to sell them to the Teleri. Should pay for a couple of ships, anyway.’  


‘Ships, Ada?’  


‘You don’t think that we’re going to _walk_ to the eastern lands, do you?’  


‘No, Ada.’ Maedhros knew that his father was decidedly eccentric when it came to thinking of new ways to make money. However, he soon abandoned the crate when he saw Fëanor angrily striding towards Fingolfin, and the candles never made it to Alqualondë.  


\-------------------------  


Maglor prided himself on his strong and beautiful voice, however even he was impressed at how far his father’s voice managed to carry. He was at the front of the host, and the argument was at least half a mile away.  


‘I TOLD YOU NOT TO TOUCH IT, YOU PITIFUL EXCUSE FOR A NOLDO!’  


‘IT’S NOT MY FAULT THAT YOU’RE OBSESSED WITH FIRE, YOU BLOODY PYROMANIAC!’  


‘MISBEGOTTEN HALFBREED!’  


‘JEWEL-OBSESSED PSYCHO!’  


Things soon descended into fisticuffs, and it took all thirteen of Finwë’s grandsons to separate Fëanor and Fingolfin. The host of the Noldor was divided, the ships were stolen and burnt, the Helcaraxë was crossed, and the rest is history.


End file.
